


A Family Matter

by comebackjessica



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Anna Gray - Freeform, Anna Gray Is Honestly A Badass And She Deserved Better, Anna Gray Peaky Blinders, Bisexual Polly Gray, Detective, Detective AU, Detective Noir, F/F, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, Lesbians, Michael Is Actually A Cool Character Challenge, Mother-Daughter Relationship, No Lesbians Die, Polly Gray & Anna Gray, Steven Knight Did Not Pass The Vibe Check, noir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:34:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29068125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comebackjessica/pseuds/comebackjessica
Summary: Polly Gray never gave up on her daughter and hires a detective to find her. Turns out, the nuns aren't what they seem and our poor detective is head over heels for the toughest of all the Peaky Blinders.
Relationships: Polly Gray/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15





	A Family Matter

She entered the detective's office like demons might return to Hell: loudly and with flourish.

“Polly Gray,” the woman introduced herself, never taking off her large, black sunglasses. It was an early evening and the detective’s thoughts immediately went to possible domestic abuse. She couldn’t help it; as the only private detective in this city with a smidge of conscience, she cared. Especially about women, since quite frankly nobody else did. 

In her ten years of experience in the business, Tilda Beale has seen it all: murder, gangs, incompetent coppers, infidelities of all sorts. She remained entirely disillusioned about what kind of world she lived in and what kind of people she might expect to hire her to sort out their problems.

Not a woman like this, though. A woman like this... it hardly ever happened.

Tilda realized now that the woman had outstretched her gloved hand towards her and had been waiting for her to shake it. The detective obliged. That was still the easy part of the formalities. The difficult one always came with the story.

“I’m the name on the door, but call me Tilda,” she said before lighting a cigarette and sitting behind her cluttered desk. “Please,” she outstretched her hand and offered the woman a seat in front of it. “Start at the beginning.”

Tilda’s favorite saying seemed to amuse Polly. She smirked and sat down, only now taking off the glasses and her gloves. No shiner, the detective noticed immediately. Then it must have been about identity. She was intrigued. Out of her leather handbag, which probably cost more than this office slash apartment annually, Polly took out a stack of papers and a silver, fancy-looking cigarette case. She lit one before handing Tilda the documents. The detective noticed then that the woman was taking her sweet time with all of this, too — either she was used to people waiting for her orders or just plain nervous. Then again, the woman didn’t look like someone could ever make her lose her cool.

Tilda accepted the papers without a word and sat back a bit in order to inspect them properly.

“What am I looking at, Mrs. Gray?” Tilda asked, just in case.

“ _ Miss, _ ” she stressed. “I heard you can find people.”

“That I can,” Tilda said, allowing herself a little smirk. “Better than the halfwit down the street, that I can tell ya.”

“I’ve been to his office,” Polly said, voice perfectly neutral.

“Oh?” Tilda asked, doing her best to sound incredulous. Of-fuckin’-course she went to see  _ a man  _ first.

“Yes. I expected a moron and was not disappointed,” Polly said then, with a surprisingly acerbic tone that made Tilda chuckle.

“Yeah, he’s not worth your time. I charge by the hour but at least I’ll get you somewhere,” she said, comfortable with boosting herself up a little bit. Truth was, she was a damn good detective. Better than these idiots from the police station would ever be, what with the Peaky Blinders and all. She was resourceful and smart. She got around.

“I need to find her,” Polly interrupted Tilda then and pointed towards the papers. “Finding Michael was easy. But I need to find his sister. They were separated at the orphanage and after he got adopted, she disappeared.”

The detective looked at the papers again. Fair enough, there were some documents to back up the story. But what would a woman like Polly Gray want with a pair of orphans?

“They told me she died but I don’t believe a word of it,” Polly stubbed down the cigarette and lit another one immediately, this time just to occupy her hands. 

_ Oh,  _ Tilda realized then. She was the mother.

“I need you to locate her for me. If not her, then at least her body. They wouldn’t ship her to Australia, not without a reason.” Polly shook her head. “I don’t believe it.”

She looked like she wanted to cry but composed herself quickly. Tilda noticed the pain and decided against saying anything. She looked back at the papers instead. A theory was already forming in her head, that’s how it always worked. She wasn't that great with people but when it came to their stories, she was a virtuoso of wits.

“Listen, if the orphanage was run by nuns, I can’t help you there.” Tilda tried to keep her voice as sympathetic as possible. She was never a mother herself but could comprehend the woman’s loss well enough.

“Why the fuck not?” Polly asked, her tone suddenly stern.

She looked at the detective and the other woman tried to keep her composure. Polly was honestly intimidating and Tilda felt a little bit of a crush coming.

“In my experience, nuns keep their secrets. The convent is usually how they live and how they die. It would be very difficult to infiltrate them, not to mention get into their records,” she said then, as calmly as possible. “But…” She looked at the papers before her once more. “Anna… it doesn’t seem like she was shipped off to the colonies. They don’t just ship anybody out there, not without a serious reason.”

“Exactly! She kept trying to run away from her adopted family, that’s not a crime!” Polly exclaimed and for a second, Tilda felt bad about saying this.

“It’s just a hunch,” she explained, to no avail. Polly’s eyes were already fixed on her, full of expectation.

_ Oh, fuck it. _

“Listen…” Tilda sighed and put the papers back on her desk. “It might be nothing. But it might be something. It is not uncommon for these bitches to sell young ladies to the brothels in the city. At least, if a good-looking one comes along, they get a pretty penny for it. Much bigger than the king could offer for free labor in the colonies. I’ve seen it before but I can’t promise that this is what happened to your Anna.” She watched the woman before her now, careful of the words that came out of her mouth next. “Let me give you forty-eight hours, for free.” She couldn’t believe what she was saying, but  _ fuck.  _ This woman grabbed her by the non-existent balls and didn’t let go, the way she looked at Tilda so intently.

“No,” Polly protested then and reached into her purse again. She produced a neat stack of banknotes that she then placed on the desk, on top of the papers. “This should cover a week,” she explained needlessly.

Tilda looked at the money, counting it in her head. Fuck’s sake, who exactly was Polly Gray?

She honestly felt a bit dizzy.

“Yes, it definitely does,” she said, her throat suddenly dry. “But listen, it might be nothing.”

“But it might be everything,” the woman said before gathering her belongings and standing up. “I’ll be seeing you.”

Tilda certainly fucking hoped so.

“Anna’s your daughter, isn’t she?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

Polly smirked at that and put her coat back on.

“This is why I’m not paying the idiot down the street,” she said, before exiting the office.

* * *

Tilda searched the whole Birmingham wide over and found nothing. No surprise there. Anna’s adopted family moved away ages ago and tracking them down honestly felt like a waste of time. The only possibility here was that they gave her back to the nuns, anyway, once she became… “difficult”. So there was no real reason to talk to these people just to confirm the obvious. The nuns held all the answers but she knew they wouldn’t tell her shit. 

She went to the convent even, but was met with resentment and scolding looks from the nuns. No answers. Granted, Tilda was never one to wear what could have been considered a “proper” women’s attire, since she was partial to well-tailored suits and practical boots.

Still, for some reason, she felt like she didn’t want to disappoint the new client. Not that she couldn’t, exactly... she just really did not want to come up empty-handed. 

After Birmingham, Tilda came to London. She decided to follow her hunch, after all that was the only lead she had at this point. There, she visited numerous establishments of dubious reputation, with lukewarm results. Nevertheless, she only had a name to work with and a very outdated picture. 

Australia still didn’t seem like a realistic option, though. Only the worst of the worst were forced to go there, and still — that only happened if they were serious criminals or seriously brainless. And something about Polly Gray told the detective that Polly’s daughter definitely wouldn’t be brainless. 

Despite reaching one dead end after another, her intuition somehow only grew stronger. The colonies sounded more and more like a good cover-up story to protect the convent and the adopted family, which coincidentally made her a little glad that she couldn’t track them down. Tilda honestly worried she would’ve done something illegal to them. What sort of disgusting people would sell a kid, even a misbehaving one? 

She ended up wandering around London on purpose, never realising that she suddenly found herself somewhere between the very outskirts of Camden and the bad beginnings of Whitechapel. She lit a cigarette then, trying to figure out her next move. All of a sudden, a scrawny looking guy standing by the corner whistled sharply and beckoned the detective towards him. She dropped her cigarette to the curb and followed, trying to make her walk as intimidating and manly as possible. 

“Oi, you. You lookin’ for a good time, eh?” the man asked, smirking at Tilda wickedly.

He was honestly repulsive, from his rotting teeth to his smelly clothes.

“Depends,” she said, trying to make her voice sound lower and her accent dodgier. “You got any pretties?”

“Oh, do I!” He grinned this time, showing off some cold-capped teeth. “The prettiest of them, mate! Follow me, eh?” 

He walked back into the alley and beckoned for her to follow. Tilda sighed and felt the gun in her pocket, trying to feel safer. Truth be told, she could pass for a man. She was tall and slender, and kept her hair almost as short as the Peaky Blinders. Nobody could tell the difference, not unless they looked close enough. Or felt her up, which… 

She never let anyone do, anyway.

Tilda followed the man into the back alley, until they reached a dubious metal door.

“Here,” he said, grinning again and letting her through first. 

She walked down into a dingy basement, followed by the chuckling man. She honestly couldn’t tell if he was high or just excited. Or maybe just planning something awful. Either way, the detective kept her hand in the coat pocket and her wits about her. It couldn’t hurt to check out one more place before she went back to Birmingham, she mused.

She finally reached the basement and was then greeted by a cheerful lady with the brightest smile in the whole of London. The woman was definitely easier to look at than her doorman. Tilda handed him a couple of coins to get rid of him finally and he hummed appreciatively, before taking his leave. He left his pungent odor behind him, though, and Tilda was now working very hard on keeping her expression completely indifferent.

“Welcome, my good sir! My name is Marianne, you are very welcome here. May I take your coat?”

“No,” Tilda barked, a bit harsher than planned.

Touching would be dangerous, though. Not every establishment accepted people like her — women like her. Marianne looked puzzled for a split second before taking her hands away. Obviously, she must have seen worse than a little rudeness.

“I like to keep it on,” the detective explained, if a little clumsily. 

“Of course. Right this way, let me introduce you to my girls,” Marianne said and opened another door, then entered first.

They were welcomed by a familiar stench of cheap perfume and incense, and a dreadful sight of way too much pink and way too many men. The patrons of this fine establishment were spread out on the numerous armchairs and loveseats, letting the prostitutes flirt and get them a bit drunk before they would retire to a somewhat move private accommodation and take care of their business.

“These are our girls,” Marianne explained, before she and the detective entered another room that was a bit more quiet and subdued in atmosphere. “I will let you get acquainted,” she said with a genuine smile. “Shout out if you need me.”

She outstretched her hand expectantly and Tilda paid, a bit more than what was necessary. Fine, let the madam think she’s a fancy virgin boy, who cares. A guise as good as any, Tilda supposed.

She looked around, honestly surprised with how well the girls took her presence. They were unusually relaxed, and not in an opium-fazed kind of way. The detective wondered for a bit if they had perhaps spotted her charade immediately, but then she realized, this place was not that bad for Whitechapel. No weird smells, no visible muscles lurking around. Perhaps Marianne treated her girls a little better than other  _ mamas _ Tilda had come across in her lifetime.

“I’m Jane,” one girl said, before she came closer and took Tilda by the hand. “My, what nice hands you have, sir,” she giggled. 

The detective withdrew her hand sharply, careful not to blow the cover. 

“You know a girl named Anna?” she asked in her normal voice now, still low but not as raspy.

She had a plan to gain their trust and this could honestly go both ways. Worth the risk, though, if it could produce any sort of viable information for Polly. The girls stayed silent, watching her closely from their seats. All of them were wearing costumes of more or less sexual nature, with corsets and stockings prevailing.

None of them spoke. She was not surprised in the slightest, though something told her to try a bit harder. The loyalty between these girls was actually legendary, and for a good reason. They only had each other.

_ Fine. _

Couldn’t hurt to give it one more try. The detective looked around and took off her jacket. This was not surprising to them, but then she proceeded to unbutton her shirt and finally the undershirt. She stood before them all now, flat-chested as she was, and completely vulnerable. A secret for a secret.

“We… not all of us do what you want,” said one of the girls, the one that looked the youngest.

“I’m not looking for that,” Tilda said softly. “And I’m not your enemy.” She looked around. “I’m looking for Anna, she might go by another name now. She was taken from her mother a long time ago, sold from place to place. By the nuns.” She looked at the girls one by one now, trying to see any hints of recognition. The last sentence seemed to have done the trick. The detective immediately saw that a couple of them knew exactly what she was talking about.

She produced the picture then and showed them but again, none of them spoke. None of them moved. She honestly expected nothing else. They all faced the cruel world of men together, as sisters. They wouldn’t tell.

“I understand.” Tilda gathered her clothes and calmly put everything back on. Before she could button her shirt up, however, one of the girls piped up:

“Anna’s not here anymore.”

Tilda looked at her, trying not to seem too expectant. 

“Where did she go?” she asked, voice as soft as possible.

* * *

It turns out, the detective’s initial hunch was correct. Only, she wasn't so sure if the fate that Anna had met was all that much better than Australia.

The girls’ information checked out. Her own investigation and one or two bribes confirmed it the next day. Anna was never shipped out to the colonies but she was tried and sentenced for a crime in England. Prostitution. 

She was kept in London’s women prison under the false identity she had given. Anna was a clever girl after all, that hunch turned out to be correct, too. If she didn’t want to be found, she wouldn’t be. That is, until one Tilda Beale came along, apparently. 

“This is why we could never find her,” Polly said quietly, as she inspected the reports of Tilda’s findings.

The detective just shrugged and lit a cigarette, not really willing to talk. She felt like she’d done enough for the case. She even went out of her comfort zone and agreed to meet Polly at her place of business, though initially the detective never put the two and two together until her peculiar client told her the name of the pub. Tilda met her at The Garrison and only then she realized that she had completely missed Polly’s association with the Peaky Blinders, because well… The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. For a second, the detective honestly kind of wanted to be there for Polly and Anna’s reunion, if only to witness their shared cleverness. 

The two of them were alone in the room now and Polly was sitting so close that Tilda could smell her perfume. She was reading the detective’s reports, cheeks flushed and eyes full of conflicting emotions.

Then, the door to the small office room burst open. In it, stood a short handsome man with a haunted look on his face.

“Polly,” he said, voice low and raspy. Then he paused, obviously surprised to see the other woman. “Who is this?”

“None of your fuckin’ business.” Polly said and put her hand on Tilda’s thigh, as if to say it was alright. It wasn’t, though.

None of this was fine.

Polly’s hand was on her thigh and Tilda’s mouth watered.

And then, there was the matter of the man before her, him being none other than Tommy fucking Shelby.

“Should I go?” the detective asked, instinctively grabbing the documents and other findings, trying to hide them from the man’s scrutinizing gaze.

“Nonsense,” Polly said, eyeing Tommy sternly. “What is it, Tom?”

The Peaky Blinder looked at Tilda, then back at Polly, his expression unreadable.

“It’s a family matter,” he said finally.

“Fine,” Polly said. “This is, too.”

He looked at the detective again and this time, she actually felt uneasy. Tilda knew damn well what Tommy Shelby got up to these days; after all, she grew up in these parts. This is probably why Polly had given her a different name than “Shelby” in the first place. People either tended to be way too eager to deal with this family or just too frightened to say no. 

“Very well,” Tommy said then and left the room without any goodbyes. 

The worst was probably his tone, Tilda decided, smooth and eerily cold. She definitely did not want to cross paths with the guy again, if she could help it.

“The fuckin’ prick lied to me,” Polly said then and Tilda realized this must have been the reason for the woman’s current hostility towards Tommy.

“Isn’t he your cousin or something?” the detective asked, honestly surprised at herself that she did. She usually never wanted to know more about her clients, especially though — about the people like the Peaky Blinders, that is: aside from the information that was absolutely necessary for the case.

“My nephew,” Polly said and went back to the stack of papers to look at the picture of Anna that Tilda was able to obtain from the police records.

Polly’s daughter was older in that photo, but still looked no more than twenty. Her eyes were stern and angry and her hair curly and dark, just like Polly’s. 

_ Shit,  _ Tilda thought to herself as she focused again on the woman beside her. She wanted to run her fingers through Polly’s curls then and ruin her fancy updo. 

Polly spoke, thank God, before the other woman could do or say something stupid:

“He lied to me and now he’s going to fix it, or God help him.”

* * *

Polly Shelby, Tilda realized, was an entirely different person than Polly Gray. Polly Shelby was honest to God,  _ scary _ . 

Did that ruin Tilda’s little crush for her, though?

_ Fuck no _ . If only.

If Polly Shelby was scary, it paled in comparison to her nephew. Well, actuall — all of them, as by now Tilda had somehow managed to meet all the boys. That last statement, though, still applied to Tommy, specifically. The man was terrifying when determined to get something done, which made the detective solemnly swear to herself to never work for the Peaky Blinders again.

Did that exclude Polly, though? Tilda’s annoying brain immediately wanted to know, and she tried to shut it up as best as she could.

How Tommy managed to get Anna an immediate release from prison, the detective had no idea. The Shelbys were honestly impressive. Additionally, Tilda still didn’t know why exactly Polly asked her to accompany her to the prison but she went anyway. The detective watched now Polly meeting Anna by the gates, as the young woman slowly made her way back into the world. The dress she wore was torn in places and the shade of faded pink. Tilda realized this must have been the one they caught her in when she got arrested. 

Without thinking, she took off her own dark coat then and put it over Anna’s shoulders to cover her up a bit. The detective noticed Polly watching her like a hawk but after she realized what the other woman did, the older woman mouthed a genuine “thank you” at Tilda.

Tilda just nodded, deciding not to think of it too much.

“Who the fuck are you people?” Anna asked then, looking from the detective to Polly, then… well, then there were the Peaky Blinders, standing beside two fancy cars parked outside the prison gates. All of Anna’s uncles were looking at her as if she were to turn into a wolf and bite their heads off. Polly’s son, Michael, looked like he genuinely wanted to be anywhere but here.

None of the men moved, all of them working on different stages of their cigarettes and looking like they just came to someone’s funeral.

Polly said nothing, either. Tilda realized she must have been in some sort of shock and decided to at least do  _ something  _ to minimize the ungodly tension of the entire scene:

“I’m Tilda Beale,” she said quickly. “I’m a private investigator. From Birmingham.”

She saw recognition in Anna’s eyes, as she mentioned the city. She looked at Tilda, then at Polly. 

“Oh, my fucking God…” Shocked, Anna let go of Tilda’s coat and she caught it quickly, before it fell into the mud. 

“Are you my mother?” Anna asked Polly, voice faltering a bit.

“Yes,” Polly nodded earnestly. “Yes, my darling, I finally found you, I—”

“Well, good.” Anna interrupted her, her eyes suddenly dark and stone-cold. “Then go fuck yourself!”

She went past both women and then past the rest of her family, who in turn looked at Polly like lost boys. Polly, in all honesty, was none the wiser. Anna walked now briskly towards the street, making the entire leadership of the most notorious criminal organization in the country look like absolute fools.

Then, her brother threw his unfinished cigarette into the nearest puddle and shouted after her:

“There’ll be no fucking nuns where we’re going!”

Anna stopped and turned around immediately. Whatever Michael just said, must have been some sort of a secret code between the siblings.

“Mickey?” Anna’s voice suddenly lost all of its previous venom. Eyes large and hands slightly trembling, she watched as her brother approached her, her smile growing wider and wider.

Then, she threw her hands around Michael’s neck, letting out a joyous yelp. Michael laughed, too, and then picked his sister up to hug her closer. Anna laughed out loud now and let out a triumphant shout that was so loud, she spooked out two drivers of the passing cars, who then nearly crashed into each other. Tilda looked as the men honked at Polly’s children in anger.

“Go to hell!” she heard Tommy shout at the drivers then, before he reached into his own car and honked right back at them, as if outraged that anybody would dare to disrespect his family like that.

Arthur whistled loudly with his fingers, looking positively  _ overjoyed  _ at his cousins _.  _ Polly just shook her head then and lit another cigarette, while John snickered and took a hefty swig out of his hipflask. The hipflask was then snatched by the eldest Shelby and emptied entirely.

_ There’ll be okay. _

Tilda honestly felt like her job was done here and so she squeezed Polly’s shoulder in what she supposed was a friendly enough gesture.

“Was that a goodbye, Tilda?” she asked.

The detective noticed that Polly still did not dare approach her children, who were now chatting so loudly and talking over another at lightning speed, as if speaking in a language that was entirely their own. She supposed no real conversation was taking place, it was just collective outbursts of joy. Well, maybe they will come to Polly in their own time. For now, she deemed this good enough.

“You’ll be fine,” the detective said with a small smile. 

“Will I see you again?”

“May you never need my services again, Polly Shelby,” Tilda joked. 

She lit a cigarette, trying to keep her hands busy. Polly scoffed at that, again allowing herself a small look towards her children. Tommy was now trying to herd them into his car, which proved to be a rather sisyphean task. 

The detective tried to leave again but to her astonishment, Polly tried to stop her one more time:

“Let us give you a ride, at least,” she sighed. “Tilda, you gave me my family back. I owe you at least a ride back to the city.”

The detective considered this. She really did, but it honestly did not sound right.

“Ride into town with Peaky fuckin’ Blinders?” She grinned and shook her head. “Bad for business. You take care, Polly Shelby.” 

* * *

Roughly a month passed since Tilda last saw Polly and her crazy family. She tried to persuade herself to stop thinking about the woman but after awhile she just accepted the idea that apparently now her crush turned into a permanent state of pining.

Which would be fine, still, had the Shelbys decided to finally leave her the fuck alone. Still, they had a collective sixth sense for when their victim felt most vulnerable. 

Tilda was currently in the process of drowning her sorrows in gin — her drink of choice and longest relationship. Then, someone entered the office without knocking, like they owned the bloody place. The detective managed to open one eye, just to see who it was. Once she did, though, she just sighed and closed it right back.

“I thought it was you.” Her words slurred a little, she could already feel it. No matter. Stuck on her couch and having begun to form a comfortable symbiosis with it, she had no plans to go anywhere.

“Wallowing in self-pity, are we?” Anna grinned at the detective then and took away the bottle from her hand. 

“Hey!” This made the woman finally sit up. “Give that back!”

_ Fucking brat _ , Tilda added in her head.

Anna certainly looked different since the last time Tilda saw her. She was still way too thin for her height but at least she definitely looked like she had three hot meals a day, every day. Her face was less gaunt and her eyes a little less angry. She wore a gorgeous, expensive-looking suit and shoes that were most definitely imported from somewhere else. If the detective had to guess, probably Paris. Her hair was shorter, too. Anna cut it and styled it now like the actresses from the pictures.

Honestly? Good for her.

“How are you, Anna?” Tilda managed to ask, trying to get up.

“Fine. Good,” she nodded and took a swig out of the bottle before setting it on the table. She looked around with curious eyes and a playful smile. “So. This is where you live?” she asked, not without judgement.

Tilda chuckled darkly at the remark. One month later and Miss Jailbird becomes Miss Shelby. Fair enough.

“Yeah. This is where I fuckin’ live. And work.” She sighed and decided not to get up just yet. It was more comfortable to watch her from this spot. 

Anna proceeded to wander around the room, touching this or that, looking at the pictures on the walls and eyeing the shotgun by the desk with great interest.

“How did you find me?” Anna finally asked, in the same calm and innocent voice. 

“By looking fucking closely,” Tilda barked, a bit tired with her questions now. She had a short temper when drunk. “How can I help you, Anna?”

“Oh, you can get up from your loser couch and come with me,” she said with a daring smile. Tilda noticed that Polly’s coat was draped on Anna’s shoulders like a cape. For a second, the detective got scared.

“Something happened to Polly?” she asked before she could stop herself. 

Anna looked at the detective and giggled, suddenly amused. 

“Oh, poor baby. Still pining after dear, old  _ Maman _ .” She pronounced the last word somewhat French and the other woman sighed, exasperated.  _ Fucking children… _

“Then what do you want, eh?” Tilda finally got up and took out a pack of cigarettes from the desk drawer. She lit one, already feeling a bit more sober.

“You’re gonna get your coat and come with me. Or,” Anna looked around and clicked her tongue. “You can stay here and cry yourself to sleep, I don’t care what you do after hours.”

“Your dear Uncle Tommy taught you his art of persuasion, I see?” Tilda chuckled and shook her head. She blew the smoke right at Anna.

“You know,” Anna’s eyes suddenly went darker. “It is a very rude thing to do. Especially in France. Here, it means you’re just an asshole, but there... it means you want to  _ fuck _ .”

The detective froze for a split second, realization clear in her face.  _ She knew.  _ The question now was, what did Anna want to do with that knowledge? Fry Tilda’s little brains with innuendos? Execute her for fantasising about Polly, Peaky Blinders style?

“Oh, don’t look so glum, sugar!” Anna exclaimed and handed the detective her coat from the nearby hanger. “Fuck’s sake, I’m taking you to a party!”

* * *

Tilda entered The Garrison a bit more sober and a bit less self-assured. Anna had her own car now and she drove like a goddamn maniac. She liked using the horn, too. Oh, Tilda noticed alright. Anna had almost run three people over on their way to the pub, which considering how short the way it was, seemed honestly impressive. Or diabolical. But then again, she was a Shelby now.

Or a Gray?

The detective sighed and entered the fine establishment after Anna, who never stopped with her incessant questions along the way. Had it not been for gin, Tilda would’ve shot her by now.

“Oh, by the way, Tilda,” Anna asked yet another one as she led the detective towards the bar, “who does your suits? They’re honestly gorgeous.”

“A friend in Camden,” Tilda answered this time, voice raspy and tired. 

She realized then that the place was nearly empty. There was loud, lively music coming from a radio, and it certainly seemed like a party, though only one table was occupied. With the Shelbys. 

“Tilda!” a familiar voice, though completely devoid of its usual frosty manner, greeted the detective from behind the bar. Tommy Shelby, with his shirt slightly unbuttoned and sleeves rolled up, was mixing drinks with a grin pleasant enough to fool the world into thinking he was actually in a good mood. 

“Hello, Mr. Shelby,” she said flatly, which for some reason made him laugh a little. 

“So. Told you, it’s a party,” Anna said before sitting by the bar and taking from Tommy whichever glass was closest. “Cheers!” 

She never offered Tilda one which kind of defeated the point of a toast but then, the woman knew better than to question these crazy people. 

“Anna!” She heard Arthur’s loud voice coming from one of the tables, where he played poker with his brother John and a young, pretty woman Tilda has never seen before. “Bring us another bottle, love?”

“Get it yourself!” Anna said sharpy but then giggled when Tommy threw a bottle of whisky in the air like a performer before handing it to her. He winked at her and she rolled her eyes but it was obvious she loved that little trick. 

“Atta girl! Thank you,” Arthur welcomed the favor and then, to Tilda’s astonishment, looked straight at her. “Do you play?”

“Yeah,” the detective said before she could think about it well enough.

“Oh, fantastic!” The young woman exclaimed before putting her cards on the table. “Switch places with me, would you, Tilda? These twats are honestly killing me here! I need a drink.” She got up and Arthur offered the detective her chair. 

“Oh, I’m Ada by the way,” she grinned at Tilda.

“Tilda,” she said pointlessly and sat down. 

“Is your mother coming or not?” Tommy asked Anna and she shrugged, taking a seat beside John to watch the game.

“Michael’s driving her,” John reported as he shuffled the cars.

“Christ, they’ll be here next year, then.” Anna downed her drink, rolling her eyes. 

“Anna!” Ada giggled a bit and took three more glasses from Tommy, handing one to Tilda. She nodded appreciatively and took her cards from the table. Not a bad hand but not the best one, either. She could work with it, though, provided she’d get it together and stop thinking of Polly.

“What?” Anna stuck her tongue at Ada and... Tilda couldn’t help it; she was actually kind of happy that the girl was happy. Anna was obviously doing much better, now reunited with her real family at last. “He honestly drives like such an old lady, I’d rather ride a bike than with him!”

“ _ You _ drive like a maniac,” Tilda added, smirking a bit while she added her chips to the pile. For a minute, she wondered if someone would shoot her for arguing with a Shelby but then Tommy chuckled and, well. That was that, apparently.

“And you drink almost as much as our Tommy,” Anna huffed and lit a cigarette. 

“Hm.” The detective shrugged and took the cigarette from Anna, taking a long drag. Anna gaped a bit but then fixed herself another one and said nothing of it. “Doubt that,” Tilda said, voice low. “Could drink him under the table any day.”

“Ooooh!” John’s interest was piqued. “Yes! Tommy!”

“Fuck off.”

“No! Come on! Stop with the barmaid thing, get a bottle and two glasses! The lady just challenged you.”

“Nooo,” Ada groaned, then gave Tilda  _ a look.  _

Keeping her face neutral, the detective said to John:

“I would like to protest at the liberal usage of  _ lady. _ ”

Anna snorted at that and John grinned widely. 

“Well… then what should I call you?”

“Tilda.”

He giggled a little and nodded. “Alright.”

The detective watched as Tommy slowly made his way from behind the bar and sat down in front of her, now making the table feel a little crowded. 

“God,” Ada rolled her eyes. “Give me a cigarette,” she said to Arthur and patted his jacket pockets. 

Arthur swatted her hands away and Ada slapped his wrist in immediate retaliation. 

“Fuck off, Ada!”

“You fuck off!”

Arthur gave her the pack and his lighter then, huffing like a tired parent. Ada smoked with a delighted hum.

“Alright, the rules are simple. We drink the gin and talk,” Tommy said, pouring Tilda and himself a generous portion each. “Who falls first, loses. If you die, you obviously lose, too.”

The detective chuckled a bit at that and took the glass he offered.

“But that’s not fair, she almost emptied an entire bottle earlier by herself,” Anna piped up.

“Then I guess it’ll be an easy win,” Tilda shrugged and downed her drink.

Turns out, it really wasn’t. She lost two poker games but by the time she really felt drunk, Tommy was already making elaborate toasts and encouraging Anna’s banter with his brothers. It seemed like Arthur felt really protective towards the girl, while John finally found a sparring partner. 

“So, Tilda,” Tommy said, voice a bit lower than usual. An unlit cigarette hung at the corner of his mouth. “What are your intentions with my aunt?”

The detective snorted and accepted the drink he poured, thus emptying the bottle they had shared. 

“I’ll marry her,” she blurted out, no longer carrying if anyone judged. If all of this has been an elaborate scheme, then honestly… Let them kill her. She had fun.

Tommy smiled and it was a rare sight. It made him look like an actual bloody human.

“Good,” he said and patted her on the shoulder. “Otherwise our Anna might never stop pestering me to do something about you two.”

“I can certainly see where she gets it from,” Tilda said, taking the last drag of her cigarette before she stubbed it out in an already overflowing ashtray.

Then, the door to The Garrison opened and in it stood Polly Gray with her son. Tilda couldn’t help it and looked right at her. Drunk or not, her heart beat faster and her hands grew cold. Tunnel vision kicked in and suddenly, she heard nothing else by Polly, exclaiming:

“Christ almighty, I left you lot for five fucking minutes!”

“It’s been three hours!” Ada exclaimed, while John stood up, dancing a bit to the music, to arrange for more chairs. 

Michael completely ignored everyone else and went straight towards his sister who was fixing herself a drink by the bar. 

“Oh, hi trouble!” Anna greeted him before letting him hug herself close. 

Tilda noticed they lowered their voices and exchanged words in hushed tones, again talking over each other and finishing each other's thoughts. She had never seen more adorable, if a little haunted, people in her life.

“Hi, Pol,” she said, leaning a bit back in her chair.

“Tilda.” 

If the detective’s presence was unexpected, Polly never let it show. God, Tilda felt more and more in love with each passing second.

“I see our Tommy has sunk his claws of depravity in you already,” she smirked a bit and took off her gloves. She took the drink that Anna had fixed for herself and downed it in one go.

Tilda chuckled darkly and looked at the empty bottle between herself and Tommy. 

“Don’t get up,” Tommy patted the detective on the arm in a friendly fashion. He stood up instead and stumbled a bit while making his way towards the bar, where Anna and Michael were currently discussing matters of what seemed to be life and death.

Suddenly, Ada and the other two brothers felt the need to do something by the bar as well, which left just Tilda — looking at Polly like a hungry animal.

Holding the detective’s gaze, she slowly approached the table and sat on the opposite side. 

“How have you been?” Tilda asked casually, lighting another cigarette. She honestly preferred to look at Polly through a thick cloud of smoke. Otherwise, it might seem too real.

“Cut the bullshit, Tilda.” Polly seemed angry, and granted... She probably had her reasons. Tilda wasn't exactly that nice when they had parted ways — dismissive even, but what’s a girl to do?

“Sure, sure,” Tilda sighed and nodded. “I’ve been fine.”

“I don’t care.”

“No, thought you wouldn’t.” The detective winked at Polly then and noticed how her cheeks rosied a little.

“Tommy invited you?” Polly asked, lighting a cigarette herself.

“Anna came over. Dragged me by the hair.”

“I see.”

Tilda nodded and avoided Polly’s eyes.

“That’s why you’ve been avoiding me like an asshole all this time?”

Tilda sighed at the words and watched her cigarette burn between her fingers, before she finally spoke:

“It’s not easy for me, Polly. You know who I am.”

“Oh, don’t be such a tortured dickhead, Tilda! Everyone’s life is difficult one way or another. The question is, what are you going to do about it? Because if you think I’m gonna sit around and wait until you grow some actual balls, then we’ll both be single for a long bloody time.”

The detective scoffed at that, but couldn’t help to smirk a little. The woman was funny, that’s for sure.

“See, that’s exactly it. I don’t have what you want.”

“Horseshit! How the fuck do you know?”

Tilda looked at her now, confused, searching for a lie in her face. But there was no lie. She was earnest, if a little angry.  _ And you have been a giant tool,  _ the detective thought to herself immediately.

“You wanna get out of here?” she asked Polly, honestly not ready to wait another month to get the courage. Tilda stood up briskly, if a little shakier after all that gin.

“Fuckin’ finally,” Polly said but she smiled and took the other woman’s arm when offered. 

From the corner of her eye, Tilda saw the other Shelbys smiling at the two of them like absolute idiots, still gathered behind the bar like a bunch of deranged, gangster penguins.

As both women made their way down the street, Tilda put her coat over Polly’s shoulders and then took her hand in hers. With the suit and the hair, the two of them looked enough like an ordinary couple to do that, and as Polly leaned a bit into Tilda’s side, Tilda kissed her cheek. Life just got a little dreamier, the detective reckoned, even without the invaluable influence of Tommy Shelby’s gin.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally requested as a Reader/Polly fic so if that's your thing, you can read it on my tumblr!


End file.
